


The Courtship of a King

by ForeverNever



Category: The Hollow Crown - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Attempt at time period speech, Because time period, Catherine of Valois is not in this at all, Courtship, F/M, I'M A FUCKING SCHOLAR AND MY CHARACTERS WILL SPEAK PROPERLY, LOTS of talk of the Catholic religion, Marriage, Nobility, None of that psuedo-Shakespearean talk that makes no sense, Not Canon Compliant, Please don't be offended 'cuz they seriously say God every five seconds, Time period appropriate feelings on women, Time period romance, not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4165362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverNever/pseuds/ForeverNever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Henry V, venerated king of England, has won France. Now his advisors are scrambling to find him a wife, leading to the presentation of several young women from high-standing families. Henry must pick not only a wife, but a queen. Is there a woman to be had who will not only be socially and politically acceptable, but in whom Henry can confide?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Presentation

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this has been rolling around in my head. I love Tom Hiddleston as Henry V in BBC's The Hollow Crown, and I love the fan literature that's bred from that. However, I have found that a lot of the fanfics have romantic interests that a king at this time period could not possibly marry (i.e., a maid). I enjoy reading them nonetheless, since it's not meant to be historically accurate, but I wanted to write something about a strong female character whose strength is time period appropriate and who Henry V could actually have married. Thus, Viviana was born! I hope you guys enjoy this fic, and remember that reviews always help me shape my writing. Thanks!

France had fallen.

It had taken years, and many small wins and losses, but after one too many sieges the French king finally yielded to the English Empire. King Henry V had never been so joyous.

Months later, though, life had returned to the humdrum normalcy of court life. Henry had always preferred the battlefield, preferred action, but he had a kingdom to run and he had left it in the hands of his advisors too long. His return had been triumphant, and for all that he kept a straight face, he had thrilled at the choruses of people chanting his name, saying, “God save the King! God save the King!” All had been won. He was victorious.

Now he had other matters to deal with. As part of his treaty with France, it was the duty of England to help the French recover—which Henry would have done nonetheless, as France was now as much a part of his kingdom as England itself. The French were now English, and he would care for them, as God saw fit. Henry was overseeing the rebuilding of several large cities that had been damaged or destroyed, sending men and supplies, and he had carefully chosen who would be his second hand in the country. So far his choice had been well met, and news was flowing freely to him. At last, it seemed that France was settling into some semblance of stability.

Then there was the matter of marriage.

There had been an unspoken understanding that the reason the King had not yet married was because he was keeping open the option of marrying Katherine of Valois, the French princess. It had been one path to having France, but it was an option he had not needed to take. Now, however, the nobility were harping on him like flies on a carcass, wondering who and when he would marry. His advisors had stated multiple times in the past month that it was his duty to marry, and to create heirs for the throne.

A part of him rebelled. He was still young, not yet on the cusp of death, and he hesitated to believe that he would do the kingdom any ill by waiting—still, he knew his nature. He was not, and had never been, one to be committed. It was not until his father died and he found the weight of nations on his shoulders that he had forced himself to take responsibility. Perhaps it was just his previous womanizing ways that nagged at him. He knew he had not yet been rid of them, for all that he had not acted on them since his coronation, as he often found himself marveling at a passing woman’s form in a way unsuited to a king. He knew he had to marry.

The matter now was marry whom. He hardly had the time to finish all his duties in a day, let alone seek a suitable woman out on his own. Not to mention that any marriage he entered into would be a political one; any move he made would have to be carefully calculated. He no longer had need to marry a Frenchwoman, and in fact he had been advised that it would be an ill-timed move. The people of England were pleased enough with the outcome of the war, and the French were coming to accept it, but to put a French noblewoman on the throne of England may cause more uproar than it would peace. All things considered, it was best for him to marry a noblewoman of English descent.

Using this as guidance, he had tasked his advisors with creating a decently short list of perhaps ten noble families where there were eligible young women and the marriage would be politically stable. Henry had never been the best at political scheming, and he left it to others more built for the mindset than himself, at least when he could. The advisors had brought him a list of seventeen, but he had sighed and allowed it.

Each family was to present one daughter. If the family had more than one, then only one could be chosen for presentation to the King. The father would be allowed to introduce his daughter and explain why he felt that his daughter was the most appropriate to court, while the other nobility waited outside the throne room. If Henry had learned anything about nobles, it was that they would do everything possible to undermine each other for their own gain. He hoped that by isolating them one by one, he would be able to keep them from interjecting with well-placed remarks that could sway his decision.

Of course, Henry was not expected to make an immediate choice. He was not only choosing a wife, but a queen and a future mother to his heirs. He would call any strong potentials back at another time, and have time with the young woman and her father on a slightly more casual level, but this could only be done once or twice without creating a hubbub. He mustn’t appear too uncertain, or there would be gossip. As much as he hated it, Henry knew how gossip could shatter a peaceful reign.

So far, several women had stood out, but none of them for savory reasons. A few he had thought lovely of form, but the words of their fathers had not eased his spirit that they were any kinder, more considerate, or more understanding of politics than the others. Henry knew he may have been looking for a woman he would not find, but he wanted a lady who could hold her own, in a woman’s way. A queen’s domain was the social aspect, and it was she who would run the castle. If he was very lucky, he may be able to find a queen who was also observant enough to catch on to potential domestic troubles, rumors, and harsh words, and intelligent enough to gently solve the issue without having to involve Henry. Henry did not have high hopes for finding such a lady.

Another father and his daughter were ushered out of his throne room, after Henry’s obligatory words of thanks and dismissal. Henry fought the urge to sigh, to stand and stretch. He had been sitting now for nearly two hours. These men did not seem to know when to stop speaking, and decorum dictated that Henry not ask them to cease. And, of course, it did not help that he knew full well that these men wanted their daughters as queens—it would advance their family greatly, and bring them a different kind of power. Henry detested all of this.

He sat rigidly nonetheless, in his very uncomfortable throne, as another father and daughter were shown in. Henry noticed that, while they were dressed in the fashion and within their status and rank, they were not overdressed. Many families so far had peacocked before him, strutting in the best clothing they could afford as they spouted empty words about the glory of England and her King.

“Good welcome, Sir Afton of Northumberland," Henry said, keeping his voice calm and level as if he had not said the same to several others in the course of the day. Sir Afton sank to his knee, as was customary, and his daughter pulled a low curtsy. “I thank thee for your appearance this day. Rise.”

“Many thanks, your Grace,” Sir Afton said, standing again.

“Speak your business,” Henry said.

“Your Grace, I have brought here to-day my middle daughter, Lady Viviana of Northumberland, for your consideration. She is of the age of twenty and six, and of good health. Of my four daughters I have chosen her, for I have seen in her a quiet strength that I feel would serve thee well. She has been raised a lady, and knows the ways of courts, but maintains a realistic view of the world around her and her place within it. She is a silent observer, but when she speaks it has impact, and I have seen her disperse many a heated conversation with a well-placed sentence. She has all the abilities of a wife, and has a gentle way about her that calms even the most tempestuous of moods. Forgive me if I presume, my lord, but the power of kingship seems to me a heavy burden, and I have seen for myself how my Viviana can ease the mind of any weary soul. I believe her to be a good fit not only for the kingdom, but for the king.”

Henry waited for a moment for further pontification, but was pleased when it did not come. He had always appreciated simple speech, when a man could say plainly what he thought or felt without embellishment, and that seemed to be rare these days. He made a mental note to remember Lord Afton of Northumberland for future use.

Henry’s advisor, standing off to the side, leaned in and spoke in Henry’s ear. When he finished Henry turned to Lord Afton and asked, “Why is it that you have brought before me a lady incapable of bearing child, when you have other daughters to present?”

“As I stated, my lord, my other daughters have not the fortitude of Viviana,” Lord Afton said. “While it is true that Viviana cannot conceive, she has every other feature of note that a man could seek. I fear my other daughters would be too selfish or too childish to do you any service.”

Henry glanced at the woman in question, who had held her curtsy. She was lovely enough, with light blonde hair and a shapely structure about her. “We shall see if she is as intelligent as you say. Lady Viviana, you may arise. I wish to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

The lady rose, keeping her head bowed as was customary. Her voice was sweet and cool when she said, “Many thanks, my lord. All I would say is that there is more to motherhood than bearing child. A woman may birth several heirs, but if she chooses to clothe herself in greatest fashion instead of having clothes made for her children then she is not a mother.”

Henry nodded, pleasantly surprised at the concise wisdom that the lady had shown. “I gather, then, that you feel you have the necessities of motherhood, if not the physical capacity?”

“Indeed, your Grace,” she answered. “I have a deep fondness for children, and have raised my younger siblings to the best of my abilities in the absence of my mother.” Ah, yes, Henry remembered now. He had been nearly thirteen years when the lady of Northumberland passed from this world, and his father had personally seen to the lady’s funeral. Henry had gathered that his predecessor was on strong terms with Lord Afton.

“These qualities are all well,” Henry said, “but that does not negate the need for heirs.”

“If I may speak, my lord?” Lord Afton asked. Henry nodded at him. “Our family understands the need for successors to the throne, and I have given this thought much consideration—if I may be frank, I have thought of the answer to this question since Viviana was discovered infertile. The answer I have found, my lord, is that a child may well be brought into the household from elsewhere, as a babe. It is an uncommon practice, but not unheard of in the upper nobility. This child can be groomed to take the throne from near birth, but needs not be blood related. This is an unconventional answer, but the only answer I have gleaned.”

“And what say you, Lady?” Henry asked.

“I agree with my father, your Grace,” Lady Viviana replied.

“You are willing to raise another woman’s child as your own?”

“Indeed,” Lady Viviana said. “As I have stated, my liege, I have a deep desire for children, and I have long felt that a child’s raise is more important to his birth. If a babe be raised to be king, then king he shall be, regardless of whether he was born to a noble or a chimney sweep.” Henry nodded slowly, taking another look at the young woman standing before him. He would do well to appraise her; she was certainly a different breed from most noblewomen, clearly intelligent and strong of speech. She stood before him with her back straight, keeping her eyes down respectfully but clearly confident of herself. She knew her place in the wild hierarchy of nobility, but so too did she seem to know her own strengths and weaknesses.

“And if I wished an heir related to me by blood?” Henry asked.

“Then I am not the wife you seek,” the lady said simply.

Henry would not tell a lie and say that he was not taken aback by her honesty, but he did his best to mask it. “Very well. Lord Afton, I see your selection, and I shall take the lady Viviana into my considerations as surely as any other lady presented to me. You are dismissed.”

Both father and daughter dipped into low bows and curtsies before being led out by Henry’s advisor, leaving Henry momentarily alone. Henry’s mind was filled with white noise as he contemplated everything and nothing and, specifically, the woman he had just been presented. She was something unusual. Then another young woman and her father were led in, dressed in fineries, and Henry returned his mind to his tiresome search.

“Good welcome, Lord of Yorkshire. I thank thee for your appearance this day. Rise.”


	2. Decisions, and the Head Advisor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry must deal with the advisors in hopes to placate them with his choices of potential wives. Thankfully, Henry has a friend amongst the fools.

Henry was, at last, freed from the throne room after several more noble families presented their daughters to him. After that duty was complete, he had to rush to confer with his second hand in France, the Duke of Bedford, on the goings-on in France. His final call for the day was to solve a minor dispute between two houses of nobility, when one was accusing the other of slander. Then, at last, he could return to his chambers and think on the women he had met that day.

Of the seventeen, only a few stood out. The young Lady Charlotte was a particularly beautiful woman, with pale skin and raven hair, who had spoken well enough. She was well-known among the noble women for her skill with embroidery, and was often invited to gatherings, or so Henry was told. It was important to find a wife who would be able to conduct herself in social situations. However, Lady Charlotte was not yet nineteen years of age, and while she was technically marriageable Henry found himself slightly concerned with the age difference. There was also Lady Gwendolyn, who was slightly more coarse in her language but well-loved. She also came from a family that had strong political ties to the Isle of Man, where Henry could certainly use more sway. Older than Lady Charlotte, as well as more graceful, she too would be a good candidate.

Then there was Lady Viviana. Henry found himself intrigued by her mannerisms, which were the epitome of ladylike but also had a simple honesty about them. She, like her father, did not seem the type to dance around an issue, and she was clearly intelligent. All the young women presented to Henry had been educated, but sometimes being educated and being able to think on that education were two different things. She was also a well-liked member of society, though not as much as the other two ladies, and Henry wondered if she was as honest with others as she had been with him. Honesty was not always the most tactful of moves, he had found, and sometimes made more enemies than friends.

Of course, it also interested him that she has so readily told him that she may not be the woman he sought. Henry was not used to a woman so willing to live without him—in his younger years women had fallen over each other for the honor of sharing his bed, and now that he was king he had noblewomen fawning on him in hopes of marrying up. Most women that he had met in his life were willing to throw away some virtue to gain him, but it was clear that Lady Viviana was as certain about herself as she was about him. ‘Quiet strength,’ her father had said. Henry wanted to know just what that meant.

Still, he could not be certain of anything just yet. None of the ladies presented to him today had spent much time in his presence, and it was simple enough to fake a personality not natural to you for a matter of moments. In a longer period of visitation, Henry hoped he could see cracks in the masks and make the proper decision. After all, he would like to at least enjoy his wife’s company. Marriage was a political move, to be certain, but a marriage with no fondness seemed a terrible way to waste one’s energy.

Hal sighed as he slid beneath the smooth, cool sheets of his bed. It would not do to think too much and sleep too little—a lesson he had learned shortly after taking the throne. He had come to see that most issues could be postponed until sunrise. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep.

~!~

The next day was just as determinedly busy, but somehow his advisors (whom Henry was beginning to believe had some sort of supernatural ability to determine where he would be at any given moment, even if that moment wasn’t scheduled down to its boots) caught him in a quiet moment to speak on the eligibility of the women presented to him the day before. And, naturally, each advisor had his fingers in a different lot, each trying to persuade him that Lady Adella would make the best wife, or that Lady Clarette’s father would prove to be the best ally. Henry allowed the bickering for all of a moment, but his day had been stressed enough and he hadn’t the fortitude to listen to squabbling.

“Enough,” Henry said, putting his hand up for silence. “I have found interest in Lady Charlotte, Lady Gwendolyn, and Lady Viviana. I am considering them at this moment, though I will take advice on any of them, and may be persuaded to consider perhaps one more should reason be great and my personal beliefs align. That is my word.”

Immediately the bickering broke out again, and Henry resisted the urge to shake all the fools’ heads loose from their shoulders. At least this time they bickered with each other more than with him. They knew as well as any that Henry could be stubborn when he set his mind to it, and that once he said something he meant it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he demanded silence again, which swiftly descended. Why one man could need so many advisors was beyond him. “I can see that there is discontent among you. I leave you to decide amongst yourselves what advisory you would give me, but be forewarned that any man who is found to seek his own gain above the gain of the kingdom will be demoted from his position. I shall expect cohesive advice by day’s end. I wish to speak with Sir Aimery alone.”

The looks on the advisors’ faces were clearly displeased, but he was their king and they could do only as he said. They all bowed to him and retreated, though they did not wait until they were out of earshot before they began squabbling again. Only good Aimery remained, and he smiled up at Henry with the ease of a lifetime of serving kings.

In Henry’s youth Aimery had been a man revered on the battlefield, until injuries took his left arm, at which point Henry’s father had appointed Aimery advisor. The man had proven himself judicious and intelligent, and quickly become head advisor to Henry’s father as he was now to Henry himself. He was old now, his hair greying, and he had shrunken more over the years than Henry had thought possible, but he had watched over Henry as a lad and had become one of his dearest friends. It had been Aimery whose guidance had turned Prince Hal, womanizer and drunkard, into King Henry, a man of battle and a ruler others could look to in times of hardship. Henry smiled back easily.

“Come then, good Aimery,” Henry said, standing before the small man, “what advice do you see necessary in my choices?”

“I find little of concern,” Aimery said, standing as straight as always though he only came to Henry’s collarbone now. Still, despite being taller and wearing the crown, Aimery always made Henry feel young, but secure and protected. It was a rare feeling for him now. “I will say that all three young ladies would serve you and the kingdom well, though I have some concern regarding young Lady Charlotte. In herself she seems sweet enough, but I worry for her uncle, who has been known to grab for power when it is in his reach. The lady may yet be malleable, given her young age, and it would be wise to keep a close eye on how she reacts to family pressures if and when you visit her home.”

“I thank you for your wisdom,” Henry said, nodding. “See you any other concerns?”

“Perhaps only of the issue of Lady Viviana’s infertility, but while it may cause minor gossip for a short while I believe the storm will pass,” Aimery replied. “There is no law stating that the heir to the throne must be blood-related to the king, and in truth it may be simpler to take in a child. Then you can control the number of heirs, which can often save much heartache and mutiny should an untimely death occur, though I pray to God you live long and well.” Henry smiled.

“And I pray the same for you, good man,” he said, clasping Aimery’s shoulder in a familiar gesture. “Which lady do you feel they will throw me to next? Certainly they will elect another for my consideration.”

“Oh, they all have their coins in different hats,” Aimery said, waving the thought away with his remaining hand. It was clear he was as unimpressed by the other advisors as Henry had come to be. “I doubt they shall come to any form of truce by the time you have appointed. If they do, it will likely be Lady Abigail or Lady Alice, as both are in good standing and would prove wise, if not enjoyable, to marry.” Henry wrinkled his nose, something only Aimery had seen.

“Was not Lady Alice older than I?” he asked. “She seemed rather shrill upon my meeting her.”

“You mean coquettish, good lad,” Aimery said, and Henry threw his head back in rare laughter. Few were so honest with him.

“Yes, mayhaps I do,” he said, chuckling still. “I daresay you saw the way she fluttered her lashes at me?”

“If that was all you noticed, you have too pure a mind for this world,” Aimery huffed. “Such a low cut bodice is near to a state of undress! She was, to mine eyes, too bold in her advances. I doubt she would serve you well, such is her desire to flaunt and feather herself. Her only redeeming quality is her father, the poor man, who is as good as the day is long and a well-meaning sort. Had he another daughter I should tell you to look into that lady, for I do feel that the man is a strong ally, but he has none, and it is useless to entertain the thought of such a woman by your side.”

“As always, good Aimery, you have calmed my heart with honesty,” Henry said, releasing Aimery’s shoulder. “I thank you for your words, and your wit.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Aimery said, ushering Henry off. “As much joy as your praise fills me with, you have duties to attend. Off with you! You have a short period of rest this afternoon.”

“I do know my own schedule, dear advisor,” Henry joked. “But you are correct, there is much to be done this day. I shall take my leave of you, and pray keep the others from harming one another in their petty arguing.”

“So shall it be done,” Aimery said. “Now, off with you, or by my troth I shall take you over my knee as if you were still a babe!”

Henry left the room laughing, though no less the quicker for it. He knew not to test his head advisor.

~!~

Aimery was, as always, right on point with his predictions. The advisors did manage to find a truce, however unstable it may have been, and they suggested Lady Abigail for the king’s consideration. Henry had thought on the Lady Abigail, and she had seemed kindly enough, and so he accepted their nomination. Had they suggested Lady Alice the answer would have been different, but Lady Abigail had been genuine enough. That, then, left him with four strong candidates, each of whom would require a house visit before a courtship could be considered.

In truth, Henry felt that the house visits could be delayed slightly. There were, after all, more pressing duties than finding a wife, and many of his advisors agreed that he needed to spend more time aiding France. The French people had been conquered by force, and unless England and her King were seen to be taking all possible routes to help the French recover then the common people may become unsettled. An uprising would do Henry no good, especially since he had ended a multiple-year war only a few months prior. He would not be as sturdily supported if war were to strike again, and he had fewer men and fewer supplies ready should the need to use them arise. Henry had done enough toward marriage that, for now, the courts would stay quiet, and he could focus on more important matters.

Henry delegated the planning of his house visits to Aimery and two other advisors of Aimery’s choosing, asking that they be at least a few weeks away. He had much to do, and taking days just to spend time with women he may or may not choose to court would only eat what little time he had. With that decision made, he marched off to his next meeting and put the thought from his mind. The Duchess of Devon was being charged with adultery, and it was Henry’s duty to find an answer both just and merciful, and if possible politically sound. She had, supposedly, committed adultery with another lord, and so Henry had to keep in mind the future of both noble families and where that would take the nobility as a whole.

Henry hated having to be politically sound.

He sighed and squared his shoulders before entering the room where the proceedings would occur, and prayed God give him strength.


	3. The First Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry leaves the kingdom in Aimery's capable hands for a day in order to make his first housecall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these chapters seem to be really short, for which I apologize. I hope that the content makes up for it! This is definitely more of a 'I'm having fun' kind of writing and less of a 'I want to tell a story' kind, so it's not nearly as detailed as most of my writing is. Again, I'm sorry about that. But who knows, maybe I'll revise it someday. 
> 
> Ha. Ha. I'm so funny. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy! No Viviana in this chapter, but she'll show up soon enough.

Two weeks passed too quickly. Henry found that happening more and more frequently as of late.

Aimery, the good man, had been kind enough to hold off the clamoring fools for only so long as it took to plan the king’s day-long venture. The social laws dictated that there be at least one, but no more than three house visits before a courtship could be announced, so that any suitor could come into good graces with the father and the rest of the household. Most men would find it difficult to justify running off and away from work for an entire day, just to sit with a lady they had met once, but Henry being the king and sovereign of an entire country did not seem to deter the advisors. They chattered on and on about how quickly all things needed to occur, in order to keep Henry in good social standing. Even the king could be looked ill upon. Within a week the entire debacle had been decided, and after that Henry had only one more week to brace himself for his trials.

Aimery, as head advisor, would be watching over the kingdom for Henry on his day of travel. It had been decided (almost entirely without Henry’s input) that it would be foolish to leave England without Her king for longer than necessary, and so it was that Henry’s house visits were spread out across the span of three weeks. Two would only take a day, but Lady Gwendolyn and Lady Viviana’s visits would each take multiple days. Lady Viviana lived furthest away, in Northumberland, which sat on the border with Scotland. It would take two days of travel just to reach her, then two days back. Lady Gwendolyn, by contrast, lived only one day away in Stafford.

The first lady Henry was to visit was Lady Abigail, who lived quite nearby in Kent. The two hours in the carriage passed as one would expect, with rather a lot of bumping and, for the most part, silence. Henry did have guards with him, of course, but to minimize the spectacle of him passing by they were all in the carriage with him. Rather, two were within the carriage and one was above, sitting beside the carriage driver and keeping an eye out for any threats. Luckily, both guards seemed to be aware of Henry’s less-than-chipper mood and kept quiet while Henry read over some papers that needed his signature.

By the time they arrived, Henry was able to put on an amiable, if fake, face. He even smiled slightly at Lady Abigail and her father as they met him outside the carriage.

“It is an honor to have you grace our home, my king,” Lady Abigail’s father, Duke Milo of Kent, said, bowing his head respectfully. “A greater honor still to have you consider my daughter for thine wife. Please, my lord, come in. My wife has prepared a mid-day meal.”

“I am most grateful,” Henry said, standing straight. “Tell me, Lady Abigail, how do you fair this day?”

~!~

Henry hated chit-chat. He had and would always be a man of action, and sitting around a table with a family intent on talking his ear off was not his favorite way to spend a day. By the time he reached his home at last he was exhausted and more than a slight amount irritated.

Henry retired immediately to his rooms, as it was now just past dark and he had a full day tomorrow, but he remained dressed. He expected Aimery to come by before the old man went to bed, if only to make him aware of any important happenings during the day. Certainly enough it was only perhaps a half an hour before there was a knock upon Henry’s door.

“Speak thy name,” Henry called out.

“It is Aimery, your grace,” a well-known voice answered. Henry stood from off his bed.

“Enter, friend,” Henry said. “I have been awaiting you.”

One of the guards opened the heavy wooden door, and Aimery strode into the room. He had a cheeky look upon his face, and despite his foul mood Henry couldn’t help but grin. That was the look he had seen just before Aimery had suggested Henry go fishing instead of sitting in lessons, or when Aimery snuck sweets from under the cook’s nose just for the young prince. Aimery had always been a father to Henry.

“Well, then, I take it Duke Milo took not the opportunity to keep you roped in his house until you agreed to wed fair Lady Abigail,” Aimery quipped.

“Ay, though it felt as though I was trapped there nonetheless,” Henry responded, lips quirking up. “It has been a long, long day, my friend. Tell me the courts have made no messes in my absence that need my cleaning?”

“No, by the grace of God,” Aimery said as the door shut behind him. “Would you allow an old man a seat? My bones are weary. I do not envy you the crown.”

“Of course, good man, there is no need to ask,” Henry said, pulling a chair up by the crackling fireplace. “Come and sit with me. Tell me of today’s misadventures.”

“I’ve not so many as I’m sure thou hast,” Aimery said, sitting in the proffered chair. Henry noted with some worry that Aimery’s movements were becoming more stiff, his body aging as all men’s do. Aimery sighed as he leaned back against the cushions. “I would much rather hear of the foolishness in Kent. The rest can wait until the morrow.”

Henry huffed, sitting in the seat opposite his head advisor. “If this is what I have to look to for the next three visits, I fear I shall be turned away from marriage in its entirety,” Henry said candidly. “Lady Abigail was kind enough, but she rarely spoke, as if afraid to speak out of turn. I feel I do not know her any better now than I did before—although I daresay that her father has made quite an impression.”

“Duke Milo has always been the kind to run his mouth,” Aimery agreed.

“Ay, and that says it lightly!” Henry said, throwing his hands in the air. “I know more now about his political goals then I ever had intended to know of any man. I could not help but feel as though he were selling not his daughter’s hand, but his own. I am not a fool, I know that this is a marriage of politics, but I should like to at least say I have enjoyed the company of the woman I marry before I marry her!”

“So you did not get any time alone with Lady Abigail?” Aimery asked. “Not a walk around the premises or a nice jaunt on a horse?”

“Not a moment of my time was spent with her and her alone,” Henry said. “There is a part of me that fears to ask for such a thing. You know better than any man that I am still learning the ways of the courts, and I worry that a misstep here would sabotage me.”

“I understand your worry,” Aimery said. “Courting is an affair fraught with the niceties of society. I would say, however, that a kind request for a moment of the lady’s time would not bode ill, once enough preliminary talk has passed. If they are uncomfortable, they have only to deny you.”

“Ah, but no one ever does,” Henry said. “Every man I have met since my coronation has seemingly thought a request an order, simply because I wear the crown.”

“Many look at a strong leader and see him as an undeniable force,” Aimery said. “Thou art most certainly strong, and a force thou hast always been, for better or for worse. Perhaps another factor to consider is the kind of respect you are shown on your house visits—a man denied nothing is a man placed on unequal standing. I know thee well enough to say thou wish to be seen as a part of the family, and not a ruler who must be obeyed.”

“Once again, good Aimery, thou art correct,” Henry sighed. “I fear I have little hope of such a miracle coming to pass.”

“It does not do to dwell on a failure,” Aimery reminded. “Thine experience with the Duke of Kent and his daughter was less than admirable, but now you can eliminate Lady Abigail from the running. That is a step forward, regardless of how unfortunate the circumstances. There art three other ladies awaiting you yet.”

Henry smiled a small smile, allowing himself to take heart in that, at least. Aimery was a man who well knew how to comfort a frustrated friend. “It is as you say, dear friend,” Henry said. “Now, I need not keep you awake any longer, unless there is news that needs be told before the morning breaks. We have both had long days and a good rest will replenish us.”

“Oh, how true that is!” Aimery said, standing up. Henry followed him to his feet. “All talk of today may wait ‘til tomorrow, and in the meanwhile a solid sleep would do no man ill. Rest well, Henry, there is much to do tomorrow.”

“As there always is,” Henry said, opening the door for Aimery. “Until the morrow.”

“Until the morrow,” Aimery replied, bowing slightly as he left. Henry closed the door, trusting that one of the guards would see Aimery to his rooms. Aimery was, after all, a high-ranking official and a close friend of the king. Aimery was in no less danger now then he was on the battlefield. Still, Henry was glad Aimery had come by; he had been in a much fouler mood earlier, and he hated to rest on such a feeling.

Henry changed quickly and fell asleep faster, hoping that a good sleep would wash him of his remaining aggravation and prepare him for the next day. There was always more to be done.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry finally gets his visit with the Lady Viviana, and though he finds himself wary at first he finds he is quickly made at home in Lord Afton's estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Forgive me. It's been so long since I updated this, and I feel awful. Don't worry, it's not dead yet! I have plans for this story, don't you worry. I've just got so many stories bumbling about in my head--including a multichapter Coriolanus fanfic that has yet to be started--that it takes time to cycle between them. Don't give up on me! T.T 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, but be forewarned; though this chapter ends prettily, there's trouble ahead. MUAHAHAHA!
> 
> Also, this chapter has a lot of less-than-lovely thoughts on women, so be warned of that as well. They are all period thoughts and nothing I believe myself. I am a raving feminist, but I set out to write a period story and a period story I shall write. I hope I make up for it with Viviana's character (and her relatively forward-thinking father). Enjoy!

The days of drudgery continued, seeming to both crawl by and speed past. By God’s will, Henry asked for little more than good sleep and better advice—neither of which he got with frequency. Worse, he had only one house visit left, and he feared he was being entirely too particular. None of the ladies he had yet met had truly peaked his interest, though perhaps Lady Charlotte was kind enough. Still, Henry remembered the worries Aimery had told him of concerning Lady Charlotte’s uncle, and the age difference between them was still less than pleasant. Nonetheless, the other two women—Lady Gwendolyn and Lady Abigail—had been completely pulled from the running. If Henry did not find Lady Viviana any more pleasant, he may have to marry a woman much younger and much softer than himself.

At the least, Henry had learned from his previous experiences. Lady Gwendolyn, who had seemed reasonable enough in the throne room, had quickly proven to be less than honorable when allowed to spend time alone with him. She had not been so garish as to directly proffer her body, but it seemed she had done everything but. In his younger years Henry would have simply laughed at her and called her foolish, but he could not afford such rudeness now. It would be politically unstable for him to start rebuking his high nobility; he was no longer a lad whose crass ways could be written off as the idiocy of youth. Still, it had been hard not to bodily throw her away from his person when she came too close. He could only give more subtle signals, such as a deep frown at her behavior and more formal posture to remind her with whom she trifled.

He had, finally, sternly but not unkindly reprimanded her for her less than ladylike behavior, and quickly directed them back towards the company of her father. She had not dared anything so drastic in front of her family, which pointed to a willfulness to disobey—as long as she could not be caught. Henry thought it more than likely that her father had put a stop to such behavior in his presence, but the Lady Gwendolyn seemed to be more concerned with her own agenda than that of her family. He had found her beautiful, of course, and was ashamed to admit that his nether regions had stirred at the implications the lady made, but such behavior would not be tolerated amongst the courts. It would slander his name and his house, and, potentially, the very title of Queen. With Lady Abigail already crossed off the list after the debacle at her home, and with Lady Charlotte still somewhere in the awkward in-between, Henry was left with only one woman remaining.  

What was hardest was finding the time to get to Northumberland and back in order to pay a house visit to Lord Afton and his daughter. Well, daughters, technically, as only one of the three was wedded and both Lady Viviana and her sister were still in their father’s home. In fact, Lord Afton also had two younger children, twins whose birth had been their mother’s death. Henry would not deny that he was less than eager to be in a house full of people, which often felt entirely too much like having all of his advisors squawking at him at once, but he would do what he had to.

Somehow Henry’s advisors had found a way to slough him of his duties for five entire days, for the sake of this single visit. After all, it would take nearly two entire days to get there and the same to get back, and somewhere in the day he had left he would have to get to know the Lady Viviana well enough to make a decision. He had been warned, given the amount of time it took for a visit, that it would be impossible to allot another. This would be his only chance at accurately gauging the lady, and her family. 

As long and uncomfortable as the ride to Northumberland was, it was far from enough to distract Henry from the pressures of the visit. Lady Viviana, and in fact her father as well, had made a solid and enjoyable impression on him, and he hated knowing that it may well have been a ruse. Lady Gwendolyn had been, after all. Still, he could not look at them with a biased eye, lest he fall into a trap—even marrying young, naïve Lady Charlotte would be better than entering marriage with a fraud—but still, he found himself torn between hoping and dreading.

They exchanged both horses and driver to continue through the night, but it was an uncomfortable way to sleep and Henry hardly got any rest. It wasn’t until after midday the next day that they finally arrived—sooner than expected, by the grace of God, and Henry eagerly placed his feet back on solid ground and stretched.

Unfortunately, since they arrived hours earlier than anticipated, the knock on the door of the stately home sent the maids into a twist. Henry was, of course, ushered in with reverence, but a maid had to shuffle away to fetch Lord Afton and his daughter. Perhaps, Henry mused to himself as he watched everyone run about, it was best that he was here early. He now had the opportunity to see the family on a more immediately honest level; after all, they had less time to throw up any masks they may be wearing, which Henry hoped would allow him to see through the cracks.

Lord Afton came hurrying up the hallway, looking nothing less than harried. Still, his smile could only be described as genuine. “My lord, welcome!” he said. “My apologies that your arrival was not as heralded as it ought to have been, my family and I have been most eagerly awaiting you but did not expect you until nightfall. Please, come in, make yourself comfortable.”

“Fear not, it is I who have arrived earlier than expected. Please, do not place any undue stress on your staff to accommodate me,” Henry said.

“Oh, posh,” Lord Afton said, “we have been preparing for days. There is little left to do, besides the meal we had planned. Thine chambers should be nearly ready, but in the meanwhile might I show you to the library? It is not so grand as thine, I’m certain, but we art rather proud of it. This time of day Viviana is almost certainly there.”

“Of course, generous sir,” Henry said. “Please, lead the way. Tell me, can Lady Viviana read?”

“Yes, my king,” Lord Afton said as Henry fell into step just behind him. “All of my children were given the best education I could offer, though not all took to it so well as Viviana. She has a natural inclination towards learning, it seems, and teaches my youngest two certain subjects. She is particularly fond of history.”

“History?” Henry asked. “I have always taken that to be more a man’s domain.”

“In theory, perhaps,” Lord Afton said, “but she took to it well and I find it is well-met for all of God’s people to know how their empire rose. There are, of course, activities which I do not allow my daughters to partake in, as they are by nature more delicate than men, but they are strong of mind and I find no reason they should not be made to be knowledgeable.” Henry nodded, quietly pleased. It suited him ill to have an unintelligent wife, both politically and personally. He hardly wanted his every conversation with his spouse to be airy and without meaning, after all.

Lord Afton’s library was, indeed, most notable. Large, though not preposterously so, and well-stocked with books on many varied subjects, the entire place felt as familiar as all libraries do. Henry had once hated them, but as time went by his hatred melted into appreciation, and this was a library to be appreciative of if ever there was one.

“Viviana,” Lord Afton called around the high shelves. “The king has arrived early. Do please make yourself seen, should you be within this place.”

It was only a moment before the lady’s voice came from a slight way down, muffled by the tomes between them. “I cometh, Father,” was all Lady Viviana called, and somehow her cool voice fit with the atmosphere here. Henry watched the dust mites dance in the golden shafts of light from the high windows, admiring the knowledge Lord Afton had amassed here, but was not kept waiting long.

“Forgive me, Father, my liege,” Lady Viviana said as she stepped around a shelf into view. She dipped a curtsy. “I should have been more easily found.”

“All is well, my darling girl,” Lord Afton said, “you come when called and that is of help.” Henry cast a short, sidelong glance at Lord Afton’s face, surprised by the warmth in his voice. He had rarely heard any man refer with such kindness to his daughter, but the light in Lord Afton’s dark eyes made it clear enough that he loved the lady before them. Henry turned back to Lady Viviana.

“Please, rise,” he said. “I’ve no desire to make you bow within thine own home. Wast thou taken by a book?”

“Indeed, my lord,” the lady responded, keeping her eyes respectfully down though her posture was relaxed, back still straight as a lady’s ought to be. “I was taken by a short history of Welsh and English relations.”

“Is that so?” Henry asked, eyebrows going up. It seemed this woman was full of surprises. “What about this topic do you find interesting?”

“The clash of cultures, my lord,” Lady Viviana replied. “It can be seen in every war throughout history, simply in variations, and I find it fascinating to consider the sides of the argument.”

“The sides?” Henry asked.

“Of course,” Viviana replied. “No one fights without what they consider just cause.”

Henry tried to hide how stunned he was. It was unusual for anyone, advisors included, to consider such a concept, let alone to speak it with such simplicity and tact. “I am amazed at thine understanding of the situation,” Henry said, after realizing he had been silent just a moment too long. “Having been on a battlefield myself, I can promise you that what you say is true. In all my years I have never crossed swords with a man who did not believe himself in the right way of it.”

“That’s my Viviana,” Lord Afton said, beaming with pride. “She has always had the power to understand others, regardless of her own beliefs. It gives her the ability to end nearly any argument.”

“Thank you, Father,” Viviana said.

“Now, wouldst thou like me to accompany thee around the premises, or shall I leave thee in my daughter’s capable hands?” Lord Afton asked, turning his attention to Henry. “Forgive me if I presume, but you would desire to speak with her privately, my king?”

“It would be my inclination, and my pleasure,” Henry said. “If thou feelest some comfort leaving me alone in her presence, then I shall happily agree.”

“Of course, my lord,” Lord Afton said. “I shall, then, see you again come the evening meal. Viviana, show our sovereign our home at his leisure. I take my leave; enjoy our humble home, my king.” Henry nodded regally, and Lord Afton smiled at him almost reassuringly before he left—it was almost as though he knew the pressure on Henry’s shoulders, and that simple look was meant to calm him. It reminded Henry in some ways of Aimery.

The heavy oaken doors slid closed behind the lord of Northumberland, leaving Henry and the lady alone. “Please, good lady, lift thine eyes,” Henry said. Viviana did as he bid her, and when he saw her eyes for the first time Henry was stunned. Unlike her father, her eyes were not brown but an entrancing green, with hazel flecks around the center. She was a beautiful woman in her own right. “Thine eyes art a work of heaven,” Henry breathed. A light pink rose to the lady’s cheeks.

“Many thanks, my liege,” she said gracefully, dipping her head for a moment. When she raised it again, she asked, “I have left mine embroidery upon the chair. Might I place it back in its proper place before thine tour of our home?”

“Of course, fair lady,” Henry assented. “I apologize for my sudden arrival which has torn thee from thine activities. Please, lead the way.”

“It is no trouble, my king, to have you here,” Lady Viviana said. “If thou wouldst come this way, thou shalt see much of my father’s library on the way.”

Henry fell easily into step beside the lady as he had with her father. “Tell me, Lady Viviana, what ought I know of you?” he asked. He knew that perhaps a less direct question would be better received, but he did not know how to speak indirectly; his father had called it one of his flaws. At the least, he would note with care the manner in which she received his inquiry, in hopes of spotting truth from lie.

“I suppose you do not speak of my pedigree,” the lady responded. “I do not know what others would say of me, my lord, but I seek to be as genuine as I might be. I know that many consider me manly, for my father hast raised me much as he would have raised a son, but I am as God hast made me and I can be no other way.”

“And how hast God made you, my lady?” Henry asked, intrigued.

“Honest, your Grace,” the lady responded promptly. “It has taken me many a year to learn the art of speaking gently, and on occasion I find I still speak with too much truth and not enough tact, but among flaws it is not the worst.”

“No, that it is not,” Henry hummed. “Still, many in the upper nobility have set their sights so strongly on propriety that plain speech is offensive upon them. Tell me, how dost thou navigate these tensions?”

“With great care,” Lady Viviana replied, a small smile upon her face. “I can find it tedious at times, but I have found that listening with respect until there is something of worth to be said is oft the best course of action. It limits the opportunity to blunder my speech, while allowing me to observe situations as they occur. It is a fine way to maintain a visage among the nobility.”

Henry nodded to himself as they rounded a corner. It was good that Lady Viviana was wise enough to know the importance of reputation. “And when something must be said?” he asked.

“Then I strive to speak with gentle honesty and empathy. It would be unseemly for me to directly question another person, particularly if he be a man, but many times it is most efficient and effective to plant the seed of a thought and leave it to grow.” Henry stood back as the lady reached a chair whereon an embroidery hoop sat. She began to place the hoop, thread and needle back within a lovely but simple box, maneuvering with a practiced ease. She moved as gracefully as she spoke.

“Thou art wise to fear the eyes of others,” Henry said. “I am sure thou hast learned this lesson well as the daughter of a high nobleman, but tell me, what else is there to Lady Viviana?”

The lady graced him with a smile as she turned, all things back in their proper places. “I suppose there is as much to me as there is to thee, my liege,” she said. “Where shall I begin?”

A smile played at the edges of Henry’s lips. The lady had posed an honest question, but with a lightly playful tone that made Henry feel at once surprised and at ease. Not many spoke with him thusly, good Aimery aside, and he relished being addressed as a man as much as a king. “Tell me of how thou passest thine time,” he said. “What dost thou do upon thy leisure?”

“I embroider, as thou hast seen,” Lady Viviana answered. “I also weave and spin, when opportunity arises. While at home much of mine time is occupied with my younger siblings, as much of their education is in mine hands.”

“Yes, thine father didst to mention that thou teachest them history,” Henry said. “What else layest on thou to teach? And perhaps we may rest here as we speak? A tour of thine home may wait a few moments.”

“Of course, as thou please,” the lady said, indicating that he might take whichever chair he wished. Her hands were lovely in their delicacy. There were four chairs, seated in a rough circle, and once Henry had settled himself into one Lady Viviana placed herself directly opposite. “In answer to thine inquiry,” Lady Viviana said, “I teach the both of them history, geography, and reading. We also spend time pouring over the Holy Word. To my sister then I teach the ladylike arts. I fear I cannot teach my brother the ways of men,” she smiled. Henry smiled back.

“And dost they listen to thine tutelage?” Henry asked.

“Most often,” Lady Viviana replied. “I find that Annabella has become more difficult over the last year, but that is the way of growing. She is old enough to question why she must be a lady, but too young still to understand the pressures of society. I must admit that my sisters and myself were all much the same at her age, though each grew out of the phase in their own time.”

“You’ve two other sisters, correct?” Henry asked.

“Yes, one older and one younger. The younger, Eleanora, was married two months past and now expects her first child. I am making her an embroidery to place within the nursery.” Henry cocked his head. There was a tone of wistfulness in the lady’s voice, a seeming sadness deep within her eyes. Did she mourn her inability to give life to child? Lady Viviana saw his questioning gaze and chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Forgive me, your Grace, it seems I cannot withhold my jealousy. Eleanora has grown into a wonderful young woman, and I must admit my envy of her happiness. She glows with joy whenever I see her.”

“I am sure it is difficult,” Henry said. “I remember when I was a lad, old enough to go into battle but withheld from the field by illness, and the frustration of watching the men come back victorious. I know it be not the same for thee, but I must suppose that it is equivalent. I could not complete my duties as a man, as you are withheld from thine duties as a woman. I sympathize with thine pain.”

“Thank you, my king,” the lady said. Then, quieter, “I only wish that mine illness too would pass.”

Henry found himself quickly at a loss. He had never been the best at comforting others, especially not women whose moods could be as tumultuous as the seas at tide. He knew he ought to say something kind, something empathetic, but he knew not what those words would be. His agitation lasted but a moment, though, as the lady once again laughed at herself. Her smile did not reach her eyes.

“Forgive me my sentimentality,” she said. “I find myself as I grow older more sorrowful for the future. I ought keep my morose sentiments to myself.”

“No, my lady, please do not,” Henry responded. “I seek to understand thee as best I can, and thine fears too I ought to know. Please, think of me not as thine king this day, but as any suitor whose goal it be to assess a relationship between us. Must I not know you to see the future? Tell me, what of thine fate bequeaths such sadness upon thee?”

Lady Viviana looked at him with so assessing an eye that Henry felt almost as though he should hide himself—but he did not. He knew that the lady was trying to find him truthful, much as he was to her, and it would do them both disservice to avoid her gaze. Finally, the lady spoke, “Not many a man would find me a prospect for marriage,” she said simply. “Mine infertility, as well as mine education, seem to drive away those men I meet. I wish not to be a burden upon my father for the rest of mine days.”

Henry nodded, feeling a twist of sorrow for the lady before him. It was true that such a woman was not the most available choice for courting, and had she not made such an impression upon him he would not have come here at all, but he had never before considered what it meant to the woman to have fear of never marrying.

“Thine honesty astounds me,” Henry said. “I appreciate the trust thou hast placed in me.”

“It is as you have said, my liege,” Lady Viviana replied, those beautiful eyes finding his own and holding them. “It would be unfortunate for either of us to find ourselves in a marriage with no fondness.” Henry simply looked back at her, contemplating her.

“Art thou saying, then, that thou wouldst rather no marriage than a marriage of convenience?” he asked.

“Are not all marriages those of convenience?” the lady asked in return. “There is always something to be gained. I mean simply that I would wish the convenience be one felt by both partners, for I do not desire to be a centerpiece in a man’s home.”

“Thou wouldst, then, have respect?” Henry asked. This was a tantamount question; how she answered would determine her candidacy. If she were too adamant, she would prove to be needy—however, if she denied desire to be seen as human then she would be detracting a statement made in truth simply to please him.

“That which is due a wife, yes,” the lady answered. “I know I am no man, and I do not seek to rise above my station. Nonetheless, if I am to run a man’s household, direct his servants, enhance his reputation, and raise his heirs, I do desire to be seen as more than a lovely commodity.”

Henry gazed at her as critically as she had gazed at him, and just as he had done she allowed his questioning eyes. He could feel the moment that the stalemate gave way and understanding was reached; it was an odd kind of kinship. Neither expected love, but each hoped for camaraderie and each was willing to give it. Henry found his shoulders relaxing. How novel it was to find a kindred spirit.

“Should you like a tour of our home now, my liege?” Lady Viviana asked, sensing the same as Henry. Henry nodded and stood, lending the lady his hand. She took it, and her delicately boned fingers seemed to fit nicely within Henry’s own.

“Let us, then, be off,” Henry said. “I wish to know more of the place that saw thine youth.”

Lady Viviana smiled at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling wonderfully, and Henry imagined he should be rather proud to have such a woman as a wife.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry can never have a good night's rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, there's a bit more drama in this chapter, and it's not the end of the sorrow either. I hope you like it, and please remember that reviews always help me shape and motivate my writing. Thanks!

Lord Afton’s home was certainly a beautiful one. Well laid out and well built, there was little wasted space, and little wasted time between Henry and Lady Viviana. They spoke as they walked the premises, about their childhoods, their likes and dislikes, and their future goals. Most importantly, Lady Viviana did more than just answer questions—she asked them. Never were they too invasive, and they were always worded with a simple charm and grace, but it indicated that the lady was true to her word and wished to know Henry as more than a king. There was a novelty in her interest that Henry found most appealing; it was different from the interest of women when he was younger, when their desire was not to know him but to bed him, and different from the interest of other women he had met since his crowning. Lady Viviana did not seem intent on gaining his good graces, though she seemed to desire to earn them, and Henry found himself smiling at her as they spoke.

Dinner, however, was a disaster.

It was a maid who, head bowed low, reported to them that the feast was prepared. Lady Viviana led the king to the dining hall, which was as tastefully decorated as the rest of the estate and where the smell of food made Henry’s stomach rumble in anticipation. Henry sat at the head of the table, with Lord Afton on his right and Lady Viviana on his left. He was in high spirits, and enjoyed the opportunity to meet the other members of the household.

The youngest sat beside one another, each twelve years of age now. The girl, Annabella, seemed only minorly petulant, but her brother Ashford was a perfect example of a young gentleman. Both were respectful to Henry, though Annabella played with her food until Lady Viviana quietly reprimanded her (after which she pouted most unbecomingly), and all seemed well until Lady Viviana’s older sister began to speak.

Lady Esther was nothing like her Biblical counterpart; loud, brash, and angry, she seemed innocuous until she began spewing vitriol. It started near the end of the meal, after she had sat for nigh on an hour without uttering a word. It seemed to come from nowhere.

“Annabella, sit up!” Esther spat. “That is not how one behaves in the presence of kings!”

“I cannot!” Annabella retorted. “I fell from the fence today. It hurts to sit straight.”

“No, it hurts to sit straight because thou hast yet to do it once! A lady acts a lady at all times, regardless of pain.”

“Esther,” Viviana said, slight reproach in her tone. “While thou art wise to say that a lady must abide by the rules of mannerisms, Annabella is truly in pain—“

“Enough with such nonsense!” Esther snarled. Henry had never seen anyone level quite such a hateful glare, so filled with malice that it was rather alarming. It seemed Lady Esther would rather leap across the table and remove Lady Viviana of her sight by use of her dinner fork than have any kind of civil conversation. Henry frowned. “Thou art entirely too lax with her education. Why was Annabella on the fence at all? Her teaching ought to have taught her better. Look at Ashford! He acts as a gentleman should, for he is not under thine guidance.”

“If thou takest reproach at my teaching style,” Lady Viviana said levelheadedly, “then perhaps thou ought aid me in her tutelage.”

“I am the oldest, I am removed from such squalor. My duties—“

“None of which thou attend!” Lord Afton snapped. The hall fell silent as he composed himself. It seemed he was equally as upset with the bickering. He continued more calmly, “Thou speakest of the duties of being a lady, and yet thou hast never presented yourself as one. I will have no more harsh words from thine lips tonight, not in front of our guest.”

“I am most grateful for thine consideration, Lord Afton,” Henry spoke, nodding to the lord of the manor. He tried to convey with his eyes that he blamed no one for Lady Esther’s outburst but the lady herself. Lord Afton could not be held responsible for the actions of a grown woman, and as his other daughter composed herself so well Henry doubted it was the fault of a failed father.

Henry looked at Lady Viviana, whose eyes were trained on her younger sister. Henry looked down the table at the young lady and found her most upset; her head was hung low, her hands wrung in her lap, and it seemed she was close to tears. Henry remembered himself at such an age, and had to admit a predilection for being praised. When he had been too harshly reprimanded he had felt that it was not the fault of his actions, but some fault of his character. Oft had his sparring master made him feel not as a man, but as a broken little boy. His lips pressed together.

“Young Lady Annabella,” he addressed, and the girl’s head jerked up. She looked positively frightened, and he tried to make his expression as openly compassionate as he could. It was rare he displayed such a countenance, but he felt that it was best. “Tell me, dost thou spend much time in the gardens?”

“Yes, your Grace,” Annabella said. Her knuckles were white where she clasped her own hands.

“I have admired the gardens from the halls, but as yet Lady Viviana and I have yet had the opportunity to peruse it. Wouldst thou be so kind as to accompany us, as thou knowest the lands so well?” Annabella’s eyes—hazel like her father’s—widened at him, and he smiled at her comfortingly. It had been long since he had spent time with a child, and he felt it may do him good—both to be around just carefree happiness, and to see Lady Viviana’s actions around a young lady not yet out of girlhood.

“I—It would be my honor, your Grace,” Lady Annabella said, ducking her head again, and Henry nodded.

“Then it is set. Perhaps early tomorrow, before I must return to my home?”

“Annabella has a tutoring lesson tomorrow morn,” Lady Viviana said, sliding Annabella a near-mischievous smile, “but I’m sure I could rearrange the schedule.” Annabella absolutely beamed, and Henry couldn’t help a little smile.

Everyone returned to their food in peace, though Lady Esther still levelled a heated glare down the table at her sister and father. Henry glanced at Lady Viviana just as she glanced at him, and she gave him a thankful smile. He returned the gesture, and was glad to know he had not overstepped his bounds.

The peace did not last long, however. There was minor chatter until Lord Afton enquired as to the state of France, and then Lady Esther threw in another barb. “What, the French?” she said, and Henry saw Lord Afton’s jaw tick. “It was grand to win the war, but what are we to do with those dirty Frenchmen?”

“It is not for us to do anything,” Lord Afton said. “Such decisions are in the hands of God and the king, and thou shalt not speak ill of any man under my roof.”

“But they are dirty,” Esther said, rolling her eyes. “I do not see why God or the king would be so lenient with them after such devastation as they have caused the English empire.”

“I was unaware thou had been to France, daughter,” Lord Afton said, and Esther grew red.

“I have learned enough!” Esther barked. “How many dead have laid in their graves on account of the French? How many of our men have fallen to them over the war? Have they yet made reparations for—“

“The dead,” Henry said, and Esther’s mouth shut. Even she would not dare to speak over the king. “The dead who have lain in their graves were sent there by my hand. ‘Twas the decision of God that they should expire, but ‘twas the decision of mine that they should be on the battlefield. Dost thou doubt mine judgement?”

“No, my liege,” Esther said quickly, “I am in no place—“

“And yet that is what you have done, is it not?” Henry asked. Esther did not answer. “And tis not England who needs reparations. The battle took place not on our soil. Our villages did not burn, our castles did not crumble under siege. The ‘dirty French’ are English now, and I shall care for them as I would the people of England. Wouldst thou to say mine decision be erred?”

“I—I could never, your Grace—“

“Then do not,” Henry said with finality. “And next a guest be in thine home, treat them in such a way as to not bring a blush to thine good father’s face.”

Lady Esther had at least the decency to look cowed, but before he turned away Henry couldn’t help but see that she was also simmering with anger. He knew this would not be the end of this debacle, but he was willing to let it lie for now.

There was no returning from such a spectacle, and the last of the meal was eaten in an oppressive silence. No one was willing to meet anyone else’s eye, and though he regretted that he had been forced to speak up Henry knew he had done what was necessary. No one, man or woman, could be left to question him in such a way, and he needed to quash any residual hatred against the French if peace was to be lasting.

But, just as Henry had feared, it was not over.

\- - - - - - - - - - -

“You little whore!” Esther hissed from the other side of the door. It roused Henry from his near-slumber, and his eyebrow immediately rose. “I know thou art in there, Viviana. Thou canst not hide from me.”

Henry sat up in bed, blinking his almost-sleep from his eyes. He had been placed in the room that had been Lady Viviana’s in childhood, and apparently Lady Viviana still spent time in here if her sister thought Viviana would be in here. It seemed Lady Esther was kept a bit out of the loop. And she was still talking.

“What makes thou think I wouldst not find you, you harlot?” Esther spat under her breath—but loudly enough for Henry to hear her. “I have been watching thine attentions on the king, little sister. Dost thou believe in truth that he feels for thee? He is a royal—he is the king of England! He lives his life in the realm of the courts, and thou thinkest that he cannot fake a smile? He will leave thee tomorrow and never come back, just as all the rest have done!”

Henry stood quietly out of the bed and reached unhurriedly for his clothing. It would be unseemly for him to show his nightclothes to a lady.

“After all, what dost thou have to offer such a man? Or any man? They say that the Lord maketh no mistakes, and the Lord hast made thee half a woman. It be useless for thee to attempt the womanly arts—it is no fault of yours, for the Lord has not made thee capable of such duties.” Henry did not miss the taunting tone in the woman’s voice. “It is folly to pretend thineself adequate. Is that why thou hast spent so long trying to fill the emptiness? Annabella is proof of your inability. Her lack of ladylike tendencies cannot be fault of her own, not at her tender age. Thou hast done thine best, dearest sister, but thou art at a God-given disadvantage! Shalt thou continue to delude thine self? Thou art not destined for marriage and motherhood! Thou shalt have to find thine happiness elsewhere, I fear, though I know not where. Dost thou have nothing to say? How like you, sister! Always sitting quietly in the corner, mute as a mouse. That is how thou art meant to be, canst thou not feel it?

“But soft, let your good heart not be pained! There must be some reason for your unfortunate inadequacy. And spinsterhood seems not so terrible! Thou shalt have a place of honor at mine wedding, and those of Ashford and Annabella too, I’m sure. Mayhaps I shall even allow thee to hold my firstborn child when the day comes, despite thine—“

Henry opened the door then. For a split second the woman’s face was the picture of haughty victory, but quickly her visage fell into a pale and distraught terror. Henry looked down at her with the cool distance afforded to royalty.

“F-forgive me, your Grace,” Esther bowed, chuckling nervously. “I meant not to wake thee. I came simply to call to my dear sister, I apologize if you heard my mumbling—“ Esther yelped, more in surprise than pain, as Henry fixed a firm hand around her arm and began to walk in the direction of Lord Afton’s rooms. He had been shown to them, naturally, in case he found himself in need of anything during the night. Lord Afton was closest, but a few doors down the hallway, should Henry require anything.

Esther quickly shut her mouth, surely understanding that she had said enough. She trailed behind Henry, who did not say a word though his grip did not waver. Henry did not deign to look at her as he dragged her, keeping his eyes frontward. Were he not so coldly angry he would have felt bad for waking the man, who quickly emerged in his dressing robes.

“My king, have you found a need—“ Lord Afton’s question dwindled into nothing when he saw his eldest daughter standing there, still securely in Henry’s grasp and looking every inch the guilty party. She was still fully dressed, which meant either that she had changed back from her nightclothes or simply never put them on in the first place. She had planned this. Lord Afton’s eyes, which were now slightly panicked, made their way back to Henry. “Your Grace?” he asked.

“Go on, woman,” Henry said, urging Lady Esther forward. “Tell thine father thine trickeries.”

“I—“ the lady began, wide eyes darting back and forth between her father and the man who ruled her country. “Forgive me, Father, and you as well, my king. I found that Viviana was not within her chambers and went to find her. I did not mean to wake your Grace—“

“With thine hatred fueled speech?” Henry asked. “Or was it thine baleful hissing that roused me?”

“Esther? What is the meaning of this?” Lord Afton asked.

“Lord Afton, thine daughter has seen fit to slander Lady Viviana. I shall not recount all the painful lies she hath told, but she seemed content to say that thine other daughter be, what words did she use, ‘half a woman’ and ‘unfortunately inadequate,’” Henry cut in.

“I—“ Lady Esther tried, but again Henry was not yet finished.

“In fact, her soliloquy began with slandering me,” he said. “I believe the content was something such as calling me a liar.”

“Esther!” Lord Afton said, aghast. “Such talk is treason!”

Esther shrunk into herself, white as a sheet. It seemed even she knew what could await her if Henry saw fit to punish her for her digressions.

“I shall not take her to court,” Henry said, and the relief on both of their faces was palpable. “But I do this not out of respect for Lady Esther. It is love for thee, Lord Afton, that stays mine hand. I would not see such disgrace brought upon thine family.”

“Thank you, my thrice gracious lord,” Lord Afton said, voice shaking. “Rest assured that I shall take every full measure of punishment against she who was once mine daughter.”

“Father!” Esther gasped. Clearly she knew the implication of those words from her father’s mouth, as Henry did as well.

“I am no longer thine father,” Lord Afton said. “Thou hast smeared mud over our family name time and again, and will no longer be tolerated within mine house, unless thou be garbed in the robes of a servant.”

Esther’s face crumpled and, in a final fit of defiance, wrenched herself from Henry’s grasp with a cry and ran from the two men. Henry watched her go, then turned to Lord Afton. He intended to give words of affirmation, for truly did he believe that Lord Afton had acted accordingly, but when he saw the way the lord of the manor leaned against his door frame he worried greatly.

“Come, good man,” Henry said, taking Lord Afton’s arm gently. Lord Afton did not look at him, his eyes still trained on where his daughter had disappeared round the corner. His face was ashen pale. “Thou must take thine rest, and let peace enter thine heart.”

“Peace,” Lord Afton murmured, allowing Henry to lead him towards his bed. Lord Afton shook his head. “I shall find no peace now, my king. My daughter—I have forsaken my daughter!” Then poor Afton collapsed onto his mattress, burying his head in his hands. “My eldest,” he moaned, “and what have I done to her?”

“Thou hast done only what thou must,” Henry said, laying his hand awkwardly on Afton’s shoulder. He was not a man well suited to comforting, least of all when it was a man he knew not well, but it was clear that Lord Afton was devastated by the turn of events. After seeing the way he loved his children, Henry would be remiss to say he could not understand why.

“Please, good Afton, still thine tears,” Henry said gently. “This I shall do for thee: in thy name I take thine eldest into mine home, to serve as a cook in my kitchens. The work is less laborious than being a serving maid or cleaning woman, and is higher on the ladder than most other positions. Though noblewoman she shall no longer be, rest assured that she will be well treated within my walls and shall never lack for food or shelter.” Lord Afton’s eyes, shining with tears, looked up at him as though he were an angel.

“Thou wouldst do such a thing?” Lord Afton breathed.

“It is done,” Henry said. Though he doubted that he would enjoy knowing that such a woman was a member of his serving staff, it was the least he could do for bereaved Afton, who surely knew that without Henry’s aid Esther would live her life out in squalor and disease. Lord Afton’s face was nearly worshipful.

“My lord, I cannot repay you—“

“Hush, good man,” Henry said. “Worry not of repayment. I do this for thee for the reasons one helps a friend, not for reasons of favor.” Lord Afton’s exhale was tremulous with emotion.

“Thou art a man worthy of mine Viviana,” he said, every note of his voice truly genuine. “Ah, I must send a servant to find her. She may in fact not be within her rooms, as she at times has troubles with her sleep. Perhaps I ought—“

“Sit again, wise Afton,” Henry urged, and Lord Afton, who had risen, slowly sat back upon his bed. “Thine night has been tumultuous. Let me fetch a servant, that thou may rest. Dost thou have any inclination as to where Lady Viviana may have wandered?”

“Yes, perhaps the library,” Lord Afton said. “Truly my liege, I do not wish to keep thee from thine own rest. Shall I not fetch a servant?”

“Please, worry not,” Henry said, smiling. “I shall not sleep so quickly now. Rest thineself, and know that all is in God’s plan.” Lord Afton nodded, seeming still shaken but more sturdy in his decision, and Henry patted his shoulder in comfort before leaving the room. At least now Afton did not seem so waxy pale.

Henry had not lied to the good lord of Northumberland about what was sure to be a night with little rest, and deciding that action was better than tossing and turning in bed sought out Lady Viviana. He knocked lightly on the lady’s bedroom door, but there was no answer; he had not expected one, but it was best to check before walking across the manor to the library. It would have made little sense for Esther to come to her sister’s old rooms if she could be found in her current abode. Henry set off for the library.

He was grateful that his thoughts were blessedly blank. He did not desire to ruminate on what had just occurred, and even less so on the way it would effect this family. After all, he would leave in the morning and Lord Afton and his children would be left to tidy the remains of their tattered family. Whether or not Henry would ever return was dependent on choices not yet made.

The library door was ajar, likely to signal to any servants still awake that Lady Viviana could be found inside. Henry knocked but let himself slide in before he received an answer, thinking that in the large library padded with parchment and leather the lady was not likely to have heard his knock.

Unlike during the day, where there was faint light from the high windows, the library was near pitch-black. Henry stood stalk-still and attentive, a trait he had learned on the battlefield that was now instinctual. Whenever he could not see, he was alert for danger—for attack. There were many who would see him dead, if only to claim his crown. Slowly the blue outlines of the bookshelves appeared before him as his eyes adjusted, and he felt his shoulders relax slightly. Now to find Lady Viviana.

There was no candlelight to guide him, as he had at first anticipated there being. It would have been impossible for Lady Viviana to read in such low light, and she must have brought with her a candelabra to light her way. Henry kept his eyes peeled as he wound around the massive shelves.

“Lady Viviana?” he called softly, feeling oddly as though speaking loudly would displace the precarious peace here. This library seemed a haven after all the night had seen. “My lady, where art thou?”

He found her at last, sleeping on one of the chairs. A book lay on the table before her, but she must have known she was falling asleep for she had blown out the candles to avoid the threat of fire in the night. Henry gazed at her sleeping form, her beautiful golden hair lightly tangled about the back of her head. She was in her sleeping gown, but also wrapped in a more acceptable outer robe that others could view her in and not titter. Her head lay at an awkward angle, and Henry wondered if he should let her sleep.

He watched her for some short time, but in the end knew he had to awaken her. She ought to return to her bed, where sleep would be more peaceful, and Henry reluctantly sat across her as they had done earlier that day. “Lady Viviana?” he said, not wanting to reach out and touch her lest he frighten her upon her waking. “Lady Viviana, shalt thou awaken?” The second call saw the lady stir slightly, and Henry said slightly louder, “Peace, my lady, it is Henry who wakes ye. Wouldst thou not wish to return to your chambers?”

Lady Viviana roused herself, moving with a strangely graceful sluggishness as she blinked herself awake. “My king? For what dost thou enter the library at so late an hour?”

“To find thee,” Henry said. “There has been a…scene, which I shall allow thine father to explain come morning as it is a family affair. It was realized that thou were not within thine rooms, and so I came to be certain of thine safety.”

“I am most thankful, your Grace,” Lady Viviana said, though her face had fallen. “Tell me, was this scene a matter of mine sister?”

“Yes,” Henry said reluctantly. He truly hoped he did not have to explain the night’s events to her; he was not so delicate of speech, and it was an awkward thing to speak of. And, in truth, he did not want to see her stricken face. But Lady Viviana did not ask for more details, though she sighed with the weight of someone who was truly grieved.

“I do apologize, my liege,” she said quietly. “Esther has always been…she has long had trouble with negativity. She hath drifted further and further from us in recent years.”

“Thou art saddened,” Henry said.

“It is but natural,” Lady Viviana replied, eyes on the floor in contemplation. “It seems the fabric of our family unravels daily. After the death of our mother much has frayed, as tapestries do when the weft is removed. The duties of leading the house fell on my sisters and I, but whilst Esther and Eleanora frolicked, remaining girls, the weight fell upon my shoulders. I do not blame them, for none of us then could have imagined the daily struggle. It takes great work to keep a castle running smoothly. I, too, would have turned away the responsibility had I been able, but someone had to take up the gauntlet our mother dropped for us. Eleanora hath grown into a fine woman and wife, but Esther never gave up the recklessness of childhood. And she hath never given up her contempt of me.”

“Contempt?” Henry asked. He had found no reason for any hatred to be sent to the lady before him.

“I am the favored child,” Lady Viviana said, voice heavy. “Because I worked where the others played, and because of my disposition, my father has long given me his love. He loves all of us, of course, but though he does not see it I remain in a position above my siblings in status of his heart. Esther hath never forgiven me.”

“Is that not the fault of thine father, wise though he be?” Henry asked. “Thou canst not take such blame upon thine shoulders.”

“Perhaps you speak the truth,” Lady Viviana sighed, “but who wishes to see fault within thine father? Is it not easier to despise a sister than the man who hath given thee life? True fault cannot be determined but by the eyes of God, but I know where mine sister placeth her blame.”

Henry simply looked at the lady. She seemed so small against the high-backed chair, and fragile in her loosely tied robe. She did not look at him, lost in her own thoughts. “Come, my lady, please,” Henry said softly, “let us speak no more of such pain this night. The morning will dawn and the wound will still be here, so let us retire and resolve to rest whilst we can. Wouldst thou allow me to see thee to thine rooms?”

Lady Viviana looked at him, her eyes luminous in what little light there was. She let slip a sad smile. “T’would be most kind of thee, good man,” she said. “And wise counsel hast thou given. The time for sleep has come.”

Henry rose and held a hand to Lady Viviana, helping her from her seated position. It was with loving fingers that the lady marked her place in the book, tucking it beneath her arm, and Henry lifted the heavy candelabra. They walked in companionable silence, each content to say nothing more, until they returned to the lady’s door.

“Good night, my lady,” Henry said, bowing to kiss Viviana’s hand. “Good rest be granted thee.”

“And thee, my lord,” Lady Viviana said. There was a moment of eye contact where something without words was shared, then Lady Viviana turned away and the door slid quietly closed.

Henry sighed and made his way back to his own room for the night. He doubted he should sleep much at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry continues his stay at Lord Afton's home, though he knows he must return to his throne soon. After the events of the night prior, is there any peace to be had?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHMYGODI'MSOSORRYI'MHORRIBLEIT'SBEENFOREVERAAAAAAHHHH!!!!
> 
> Translation: Wow, guys, it's been a while since I updated this. Or any of my fanfics, for that matter. I'm so sorry I've kept you waiting! I've been crazy busy, but hopefully things have settled down long enough for me to crank out a bit more writing to keep you occupied. I'll try to update more frequently, but these stories are just a hobby for me and I'm sure you can understand why other things come first. That said, I have a bit of time where I can sit and write, so there should be updates coming on several of my stories. Thanks for your patience, you guys are the best! :) I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, please take a moment to let me know how I'm doing. Y'all are great!

Come morning, it was clear that the only people in the house who had slept through the night were Anabella and Ashford, the twins who, despite their age, noticed the heavy black cloud that loomed over the hall. If they questioned why their eldest sister was not present at the table for breakfast, they did not give voice to the thought. Everyone picked at their food in nervous silence, and Henry tried not to stare at the empty chair.

 

Near the end of the meal Lord Afton sighed, placing his cutlery down, and all eyes turned to him. Henry felt his stomach churn--now was the time that a father had to tell his children how their family was falling apart. “Children,” Lord Afton began, reluctant but unflinching, “as thou have surely noticed, our family has faced a harrowing trial over this past night. I must make the events clear to thee, for all our sakes, so I beg thine silence. My lord,” Lord Afton said, turning to Henry, “I do not wish to make thee sit through this unseemly conversation. If thou art finished with thine meal, then perhaps thou might wish to seek solace elsewhere. The library, perhaps? There is no need for thine noble ears to hear our shame.”

 

Henry could feel Lady Viviana’s gaze on him. Surely she did not expect him to stay? This was a family matter, and the library was cool and quiet. Henry could almost smell the old book must that would hit his nose when he opened the door. No one would blame him for taking leave that had been granted.

 

“With respect, good Lord Afton, I should wish to remain,” Henry said. “Should it bear well with thee, of course.”

 

Lord Afton looked at him with such a fond, nearly fatherly approval that Henry knew he had made the right choice. “If it be thy wish,” Lord Afton said. Out of the corner of his eye Henry could swear he saw Lady Viviana offer a small smile, and he returned it. This would be an uncomfortable conversation, he could let himself have this moment. It was over far too soon.

 

“Then, my children, let this be delayed no longer,” Lord Afton said, waving away the serving staff. They would be listening with their ears pressed to the doors, Henry well knew, but even the smallest privacies were a respite. Once the servants had retreated into the kitchens Lord Afton began, keeping as steady a face as he could for his children. “It is clear that Esther does not sit at our table, as she shan’t again. The last night saw her approaching Viviana’s old rooms, where our good King slept, and in an attempt to slander her sister Esther disturbed his sleep. Our sovereign brought her then to me. I shall not repeat what she said, but speech so hateful against one of her own blood hath proven to me that Esther can no longer be tolerated within this home.”

 

Lord Afton took a moment here to breathe, though he did not look at his children. This Henry understood. He did not know which hurt his chest more, the stricken looks of the youngest siblings or the quiet, deep pain in Lady Viviana’s visage. Did she wonder what it was her sister had said of her, or had she heard it said enough to know?

 

“As the head of this house, I have made the decision to cast Esther from our home. No longer is she thine sister, nor is she mine daughter. Know that I do this with heavy heart, but it needs be this way. Our family has lost others before and survived, though different circumstances surround these losses, and I’ve faith that we will emerge again stronger than before. Hold to each other in your sorrow and be not affrighted; all shall be well again in time,” Lord Afton said, at last glancing around the table though his eyes fell too soon. “We must continue as we have been. Viviana, wilt thou remind us all of the day’s plans?”

 

If anyone but Henry heard the knot in Viviana’s voice as she recited the schedule, none mentioned it.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The gardens were beautiful, and it was a rare bright morn. Still, Henry struggled to lift his spirits after the somber meeting at breakfast, and it was clear that Lady Viviana fought an uphill battle as well. She did what she could to appear cheerful, for the sake of young Lady Annabella, but even at her tender age the youngest sister of the Afton house seemed shaken by the news. It was not long into the walk that the young lady’s dam burst.

 

“Is it cruel?” she asked suddenly, mouth downturned. “For father to turn away his own daughter?” Henry was shocked, as it was not often that such candid questions were asked before him, but perhaps that was the naivety afforded to youth.

 

“Annabella,” Lady Viviana reprimanded, “if such things must be asked do so in private. Our king has heard enough of our troubles this day.” Lady Annabella glanced over at Henry before turning her eyes back to her sister—who was, perhaps, the only mother she had ever known.

 

“He feels as family does though, does he not?” she asked. Lady Viviana softened but a tad.

“Nonetheless, it does not do to question thine father before others,” she said, placing a hand on Anabella’s shoulder. “Such questions are natural, but he is our father and we must obey him.”

 

“Or we shall be sent away?” Anabella asked.

 

Such a question gives a man pause. Indeed, young Lady Anabella was too tender yet to understand the pressures placed on the head of a house, and of course her worry should be her own vulnerability; still, never once had Henry ever considered the fears of a girl on the cusp of womanhood. Here was a child being forced out of childhood, learning the workings of a woman’s world, and hadn’t Henry rebelled when he was placed in the same moment? The freedom of one’s younger years was a hard luxury to learn to be without.

 

It seemed Lady Viviana too was at a loss, for it took her a moment to respond and when she did it was with an empathy Henry could not reach. “Does God not love all his children, even those whose sins he must punish?” the elder sister asked.

 

“He does,” Annabella said slowly.

 

“It is so with father,” Lady Viviana said. “He punishes Esther not to hurt her, but to protect us. I know thou hast questions, for I have had the same, but have faith in this: our father is a man, as God has made all men, and he may make mistakes, but his heart for us is powerful. Thou art a kind soul, and father shall not send thee away without just reason. Dost thou understand?”

 

“Yes,” Annabella said after a moment of silence.

 

“Very well,” Lady Viviana said. “Now, do apologize to our thrice gracious lord for thine unladylike behavior, and save thine other concerns for a moment when we are alone.”

 

Both pairs of eyes turned to Henry, who stood awkwardly aside feeling very much like an intruder on a private moment and not at all like the leader of an empire. He swiftly looked away, pretending as though he had been investigating a flower bush.

 

“I beg thine forgiveness, my lord,” young Lady Annabella said, dipping into a graceful curtsy. “I did not mean to be so insubordinate to mine father, nor to cause thee any distress.”

 

“All is well, Lady Annabella,” Henry said, clearing his throat and giving a royal nod. “Thine age yet affords thee some grace on such matters.”

 

“Though it shan’t last much longer. Now, dost I recall a promise to be escorted through the rose maze?” Lady Viviana asked, a genuine smile lighting her eyes. “I fear I should not remember the way out should I attempt to lead our guest through’t.”

 

“Of course!” Annabella beamed, her worry forgotten with the ease of a child. Lady Viviana chuckled fondly as Annabella bounded off with a vow to show them the entirety of the maze.

“Go not too quickly,” Lady Viviana called after her, “as we shall not follow with swiftness.”

 

“Indeed, a day such as this is meant to be enjoyed at leisure,” Henry said to the lady, grateful that the somberness of the morning had dispelled for however slight a time. Lady Viviana smiled up at him as he offered his elbow, her fine-boned hand slotting into the crook of his arm as they followed young Annabella.

 

Henry let the sun’s rays and the fragrant air put him at peace, admiring the well-kept grounds. What Lady Viviana had called the rose maze was, Henry saw, just that; the bushes had been pruned into tall walls that wound around like a labrynth, and Henry quickly lost his bearings. Annabella was too far ahead to see more often than she was not, though she called to them periodically, but Lady Viviana led them through the twisting paths with a calm surety.

 

“Thou couldst walk this maze blinded,” Henry smiled, eyebrow raised.

 

“But of course,” Lady Viviana said lightly, though her grin belied her sly mischief. “I have frolicked in these gardens all my years, and I’ve a few more of those than my dear sister.” Henry chuckled, admitting to himself that he was glad of having a surer guide than Annabella, who was too excitable to wait for them around corners. They said little more between them, but the day felt not strained and Henry found himself relaxing into the easy silence. He would take his leave in a few hours, but for once he was content to live in an unplanned moment where the wind was warm and the hand on his arm gentle.

 

This was a good place. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry faces a return to palace life, and conflicting advise. Worse yet, clear feelings are muddled by unclear thoughts.

“I take it thine journey wast not restful?” Aimery asked, seated again by Henry’s hearth. Henry groaned.

“If the carriage driver drove us over one rock he droveth us over three more in quick succession,” he said, slouching in a most unkingly manner in his own chair.

“It should ease your mind, then, to know that there have been no mistakes I have been unable to fix in thine absence,” Aimery sighed with a shake of his head, looking twice as tired as Henry felt. Had his head advisor appeared so aged five days ago? “A letter wast delivered from France the day last, and all proceeds as expected. There is lingering distrust of English troops in the areas that saw the most bloodshed but there hath been no more uprisings on the coast.”

“The deliveries of grain and salt hath been well received, then,” Henry said, closing his eyes as his head laid back against the chair. “As rebuilding proceeds and results become visible tensions shall ease themselves, so long as England is seen to be doing all she can before that time.”

“Indeed. And the issue of trespassing between the houses of Tanager and Suffolk reaches resolve as well,” Aimery said. “The families hath decided to place between their fields a wall of stone that shall keep livestock from passing between them. This ought to settle minds in both families.”

“Ah, a civil decision at last. How long hath they bickered over something neither knew to be true?” Aimery did not answer, as he knew full well that Henry knew the number of months. An exhausted silence fell between them, and for a short while Henry took solace in being tired alongside another.

It was Aimery who asked, in a voice soft and haggard, “Tell me then, wast thine visit with Lady Viviana satisfactory?”

“'Twas an eventful visit,” Henry said, and gave Aimery a brief recollection of the madness involving the once-lady Esther. “I hath tasked Lord Afton with arranging transportation for Esther to the castle, and I expect her within four nights. I take no ease knowing she shall be within mine walls, but my word hath I given and my word shall I keep.”

Aimery hummed. “Lady Viviana hath fallen, then. I offer condolences, for I know how thou hoped though thou said it not. But Lady Charlotte be not so distasteful, and a good wife she may yet make.”

Henry raised his head at last to look at his dear friend. “And yet, I see it not in this light. Lord Afton treated the situation with more grace than e’er could be foreseen, and I have found him a genuine man. Still would I be proud to call him ally and father, in spite of his misfortune, and I find it difficult to place upon him full blame of his daughter’s actions.” He sighed. “And, in God’s truth, despite the trials of the day still I did enjoy myself.”

“Didst thou?” Aimery asked, intrigued now.

“Indeed,” Henry said, brow knit. “I found Lady Viviana to be cool of head and heart, but not without joy, and with a clear understanding of the strengths and flaws of others as well as herself. In truth, I...must admit to being partial of her. A good wife would she make, but also a strong companion. I may yet know the fondness of another in my life.”

Aimery peered at him with eyes well used for detecting sincerity, and Henry tried not to bite his lip. The decision was his alone, but if any man could sway his mind it would be Aimery. Advisor he was, but so was he friend and mentor. His word meant more to Henry than all advisors and generals of his kingdom combined.

Aimery broke into a smile, tired but wide, and Henry breathed. “Then far be it from me to dissuade thee,” Aimery said. “Thine decision reaches me wise, and even were’t not thou hast always been stubborn.” Henry grinned. Yes, perhaps the future was not so bleak as it had seemed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By midmorning the next day his decision seemed not so sound. Advisors all had words to put in, and most had concerns on Lady Viviana’s inability to bear child. Worse, for once Henry was unable to dismiss them.

There was much legitimacy to the fears that an unrelated heir could cause uproar--or worse, a very real risk of overthrow. Often blood denoted status, and status denoted allegiance. For the upper nobility to have no allegiance to the future king was a nearly sure way of causing the end of a reign--or of a life. Kill the king, gain the throne, and if no man would stand for Henry’s successor then placing the crown upon his head would be as signing his death sentence.

Henry found himself even less able to sit still. Oft had he had the destiny of his kingdom placed in his hands, and rare was the answer clear, but the matter of marriage felt somehow...it was so difficult to separate the best for his kingdom and the best for himself, when it was his hand and his bed that would be shared. Balance would not be easy to find.

Especially with time running out. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time that Henry has feared has come, and he must carry on alone.

It's incredible how quickly even a king can drop his duties when his dearest friend falls ill. 

Henry sat beside Aimery’s bed, elbows on his knees as he looked at Aimery’s sleeping form. His advisor looked withered now, the years having collected on him, and even in sleep he appeared tired. Somehow Henry had not noticed the change until this moment. 

Maybe Henry had been too consumed with his kingdom. Maybe he had worried so greatly over his own problems that he had failed to see those Aimery struggled with in silence. Maybe he was a fool. 

Just as one of his advisors entered the room, surely about to tell Henry once again that he needed to return to his duties, Aimery awoke. 

“Oh, my, such a room full of people to awaken to,” Aimery croaked, smiling. “Tell me, friends, must there be so many guards by my bedside?”

“Aimery,” Henry breathed, standing quickly. “The doctors feared thou wouldst not awaken.”

“And have thou spent all thine hours here?” Aimery asked. “A king must his kingdom attend.”

“A man must his friend be aside,” Henry said. “Guard, fetch the nurse. Posthaste.”

“If I may?” Aimery said, and Henry held his hand to stop the guard. “I am no fool, my boy, I know I edge on death. I am old, and was a soldier once besides. Death be no stranger to me. I would rather go in the quiet here, in the comfort of mine bed, than poked and prodded by an orderly who knows full well as I that it shall do me no good.” 

Henry swallowed down the lump in his throat. “What then may I do for thee, my friend?” 

“Sit aside me,” Aimery smiled, “and let me speak to thee. This is all I would ask.” Henry stared at Aimery’s face, the visage of a wise man who knows his truth, and felt his eyes sting. 

“Go,” he said quickly to the guards. He must not let them see him cry. “I should be alone with my head advisor.” No one argued. Henry tried to ignore their pitying glances as they closed the door behind them. 

“Take a seat, Henry,” Aimery said, letting himself sag against the pillows now that it was only the two of them. Still he smiled, and Henry had to clench his hands on his knees to keep from weeping. “Oh, it's tiresome to be so tired,” Aimery sighed. “My wife said just the same thing before the influenza took her. I'll be glad to see her again.”

Henry swallowed thickly. 

“Dost thou remember, Henry, how thou wouldst once glow with pride upon landing an opponent on the ground?”

“I do,” Henry crackled. 

“I'll never forget the day that it was I that found myself beaten by thee,” Aimery chuckled, then coughed. “Thine face shone like the North Star that led the kings to Christ’s manger, and the sun behind thine head created upon thee the image of a halo. I remember sitting upon the dirt and thinking that truly such a man was fit to be king.” Aimery sighed. “But what truly captivated me was the thought that I knew at last the meaning of fatherhood.” 

Henry wasn't sure what sound he made, but it was one he could not contain. He was grateful when tears began to fall, so that the fog left his eyes and he could gaze on this man he loved so well. A father. He had before him a father all this time. 

Aimery’s hand shook with exhaustion as he laid it upon Henry’s own, and Henry gripped onto it as a sob wrenched from him. He could cling all he liked, until the end of days itself, but he could not hold Aimery here. “Do not weep,” Aimery sighed. “Do not weep for me, Henry.” 

“Then let me weep for myself,” Henry forced out. “I--I should be lost without thee.” Henry crushed his eyelids closed, ashamed of his weakness and ashamed to be showing it now, when Aimery was so close to taking Death’s hand. His oldest friend, his teacher and advisor, the only true trustee of his weathered heart, was to pass and instead of holding him Henry was crying. He would curse himself if he could speak.

He felt Aimery wipe at his cheeks tenderly. “Would that I had both mine hands again,” the old man sighed,” that I might at once hold thee and comfort thee.” 

Henry could not fight his sobs. He knew it was shameful to crumple so, he knew that the last thing Aimery needed right now was to watch Henry dissolve into his emotions, but as Aimery wrapped his singular arm around Henry’s shoulders and pulled him in to weep on his chest like a babe Henry found he could not care. Aimery said nothing, only held him through the swells of his sadness. 

“I--I should miss thee terribly, Aimery,” Henry croaked as his sobbing began to subside. He clung to Aimery’s shirt like a frightened child, but did not dare lift his head. He would never feel this again. “I know not what I have done for God to bless me with such a man in my darkest hours of need.”

“Thou art thineself, Henry,” Aimery said. “Do not believe thou must become something else to be deserving of joy.” Henry sobbed again. 

Aimery gently lifted Henry’s head, and Henry found himself gazing into the eyes of a man as dear to him as his the sun in the sky. Henry did not try to hide his ragged pain. No one could be trusted more than Aimery with the sight, and no one would faster see through a mask. “Know I wish thee joy, Henry,” Aimery said, eyes full of love. “We are not in this moment a king and an advisor, nor are we friends of old. Thou art my son, and I regret only that I did not put words to it afore.”

“I knew,” Henry said. “I knew.” 

Aimery’s face, cracked and wrinkled now from so many years of life, melted into peace. Henry could imagine suddenly what Aimery must have been like as a child, with all the light of happiness in his eyes. “Then I have done that which God set me here to do,” Aimery said. “I should know no greater honor than to call myself thine father.”

“Nor I,” Henry wavered, “to proclaim myself thine son.” 

Aimery’s hand dropped to the mattress, and his head to his pillow. “My time has been such that I have seen the grace of God,” he said. “I wish this for thee, and I wish that thine house be filled with love and laughter. Though I go to the table of my Lord know that I always shall be with thee, standing by and guiding thee. And if thou findeth that the road narrows and breaks into many paths, remember this: I wish thee joy.” His eyes closed, and Henry gripped his hand as his last breath left him in these words: “I wish thee joy, Henry.” 

It was many hours later that Henry emerged from the room of Aimery’s passing. He did not try to mask his reddened eyes and wet cheeks, but he held his head high as he turned to the guards. “The head advisor has passed,” he said. “Send someone to collect his body; his funeral shall befit his glorious life.”

“Yes, your highness,” one guard bowed and went to do as told. Henry turned to another. 

“Have a carriage prepared, for I shall go to the house of Lord Afton of Northumberland as soon as can be arranged. Alert my advisors that I shall depart with swiftness to ask for the Lady Viviana’s hand in marriage.” 

“Yes, my lord,” the guard said, and left. Henry walked determinedly to his rooms to pack what was necessary. Aimery had told him to find joy, and so he would.   



End file.
